Moon Dance Page 18

  "A few days, if that. I don't think there's much call for these critters anymore."

  "That's so sad, to just turn an animal out like that."

  "Especially when most of them this young are probably the product of several generations of domestic breeding. They don't have the survival skills of the wild pigs." He leaned over and, with his flashlight, illumined the pig's left flank, where deep scars gave evidence of some sort of attack. "Looks like something's had at it."

  "What do you suppose did that?" Georgia leaned forward to investigate, and the pig lowered itself to the ground and rolled over like a dog wanting its tummy rubbed.

  "Dog, maybe. May be a few wild ones out in the woods, there." He pointed out beyond the barn, then stood up. "Come on, Spam, it's time to go. I'll just get some rope out of the car, and we'll be on our way."

  The pig rolled close to Georgia's feet, and she leaned forward to scratch its stomach. The pig turned its head toward her and grunted contentedly.

  "You're pretty cute," Georgia told it, "for a pig."

  "It is, isn't it, in its own peculiar way," the officer chuckled as he came back with the rope. "Let's try this around the neck, like a leash."

  The pig rolled over onto its back and pulled itself up from the ground, clearly aware that something was about to happen. As the rope was tied about its neck, it began to squeal faintly, as if appealing for mercy.

  "What if I kept it here for a few days?" Georgia heard herself ask. "Maybe it wasn't abandoned. Maybe it's lost. Maybe its owner is looking for it."

  "Not likely." The officer shook his head.

  "Well, how 'bout if I were to put up a few signs, like at Tanner's?"

  "That might work. If it's a lost pig, and if it's from around O'Hearn, the owner might see the sign. Sure. I don't see any harm in you keeping the pig. Just as long as you understand that it isn't likely that it's going to be claimed."

  "That would be okay. He can stay in the barn." Georgia slipped the rope from around the pig's head, and the pig nudged at the calf of her right leg.

  "Actually, I think it's a 'she'," the officer said.

  "Oh. Well, then, she can stay in the barn till her owner shows up."

  "If her owner shows up."

  Georgia bent down and petted the top of the pig's head.

  "I think I'll get her some breakfast. What do you suppose I should feed her?" Georgia looked up. "You don't suppose they make pig chow, do you?"

  The officer nodded. "Well, they make every other kind of chow. I'd try Tanner's—they sell all kinds of livestock supplies. If we're done here, I'll go on back and write up my report. I'm sure Chief Monroe will be happy to find out that we collared your intruder."

  Georgia laughed and called her thanks as the officer climbed back into the patrol car.

  "Well, then, Spam… I think we'll keep that name, it's kind of cute." Georgia stood, hands on her hips, talking to the pig. "I think I'm going to go in and get my breakfast. You can wait over here in the garden… come on."

  She walked to the fence and opened the gate, the pig trotting along behind her as if it knew it had just gotten a reprieve, and was determined to follow orders.

  "I'll be back out in a while and I'll bring you something. Don't know what, but I'll find something for you."

  The pig replied with a grunt as a laughing Georgia turned back toward the house.

  Later, after she'd filled an old pan with water and taken it out to the garden, she told her new companion, "I'm going to run into Tanner's now, and see what kind of food they have for pigs. In the meantime, you can munch on these carrots—look, I even saved you the tops—and you can stay here in the garden till I get back. Feel free to root around all you want, because there's nothing left here that you haven't already eaten. And be a good little piggy while I'm gone."

  It amused her, she realized, to have taken in the little pig. Zoey and Ben had pups—adorable golden retrievers named Diva and Dozer (short for Bulldozer), and the Devlin home had a cat. Delia had a big old cat named Grade, a barn full of horses and ponies, and several dogs. Up until now, Georgia was the only member of the family who had no pet.

  At least I'll have a little company when I'm outside, she thought as she strolled the rows of animal chows, finally locating what she needed. She found herself wishing she could have called Matt to ask him about what to feed Spam and if there was any special care one needed to give a potbellied pig. Surely he'd know. She dismissed the thought as quickly as Matt had dismissed her the week before, bolting and running from the kitchen as if he couldn't get away from her fast enough. She'd been bothered for days by the look in his eyes as he had backed away from her, as if she were tainted.

  I guess as far as he's concerned, I am, she sighed absently as she approached the cashier. I'm an Enright.

  She had several bags of pig chow loaded into the back of the Jeep along with two large-sized dog bowls—one for food, one for water. On her way out the door, she pinned the index card with the FOUND: VIETNAMESE POTBELLIED PIG notice to the bulletin board inside the front door. If in fact Spam was lost, surely her owners would want to know where she was and how to find her.

  "Well, let's see what you think of this," Georgia told Spam as she poured the packaged pig chow into the just-purchased bowl and set it on the ground.

  Spam approached it, sniffed it, then attacked her meal with gusto.

  "Spammy, you eat like—well, frankly—like a pig. When you're done, we'll take a stroll over to the barn and see if we can find some accommodations that suit you."

  It was obvious that Spam did not like the barn. She peered curiously into the empty stalls, then bolted for the door and raced back to the house. When a laughing Georgia caught up to the pig, it was lounging near the porch steps.

  "Sorry, but no," Georgia said aloud. "There will be no pigs living in my house."

  Spam sighed and plunked her head down onto the ground.

  "Well, maybe you could sleep on the back porch there. At least it's enclosed and you'd be safe from things that might think you look like a pork chop."

  Georgia opened the screened door at the top of the steps and went inside the porch, which was enclosed by windows on three sides. It might work…

  The phone was ringing in the kitchen, and she answered it on the sixth ring.

  "I was just about to hang up, cara."

  "Lee! I was thinking about you just yesterday! I miss you!" Georgia cried.

  "And being psychic, I knew that. And I miss you too, Georgey. Now, tell me, how's farm life?"

  "Oh, I love it! Pumpkin Hill is wonderful. I wish you could see it, Lee. I know you'd love it too."

  "Well, you just might get your wish. I was thinking about driving up over the weekend and bringing your rent check. Adam moved in on Monday, and I asked for two months in advance plus a month's security."

  "Wow. That's terrific! Thank you." Georgia quickly calculated three times the agreed upon rent and realized that her own rent plus food money was covered well into the future, the condo in Baltimore having demanded a loftier price than the nominal sum Laura had asked for the farmhouse.

  "You're quite welcome. Adam is thrilled with the location, and loves the apartment. He told me to tell you that if you ever decide to sell it, he'll be first in line with an open check book."

  "That's good to know, though I haven't thought that far ahead. I am just enjoying each day here as it comes. Oh, and Lee! I have a pet!"

  "Oh?" He asked.

  "You'll never guess," she giggled. "I have a pig."

  "Sorry, cara, there must be something wrong with the connection. For a minute, it sounded like you said you have a pig."

  "I did. I do. I found her just today. Her name is Spam and she's a Vietnamese potbellied pig. We think she was abandoned."

  "Ah, and you took her in. Well, I've heard they're wonderful pets. You know, years ago, I had friends in Connecticut who had several miniature potbellied pigs. They were litter trained, like cats, and were kept in the house.
"

  "I cannot bring myself to have a pig wandering through the house. But I'm thinking I might let her sleep on the back porch at night. It's enclosed, though not heated. Maybe I can find some old blankets someplace for her to lay on."

  "Well, I can't wait to see her. And you. I haven't had a day off in months, and I thought that Saturday I'd try to steal a few hours and drive out to spend them with you. That is, of course, if you're free

  "Of course, I'm free! What time would you like to come?"

  "Would sometime in the afternoon be convenient?"

  "Yes. Oh, I'm giving ballet lessons to my niece and a few of her friends at eleven. You can come early and watch, if you like."

  "Ballet lessons? Cara, have you opened your own studio already?" Lee chuckled. "Ah, I knew you couldn't stay away from it."

  "I wouldn't exactly call it a studio. And I've only just started. But it's such fun, Lee. Ally and her little friends are so enthusiastic, so happy to learn every new little step. And I'm dancing every day now, for several hours. Just for the sheer fun of it. I'd forgotten how much fun it can be."

  "I'm delighted for you, Georgey. You haven't had near enough fun these past few years. It would appear that walking away when you did may have been the best thing for you."

  "What are they saying about me?" She asked. "I mean, people in the troupe."

  "Nothing of any relevance, I'm sure." He said offhandedly. "Now, I will need directions…"

  Georgia gave Lee instructions for finding the farm, and hung up the phone with a smile on her face. She hummed as she went back outside to give Spam some chunks of apple. Next she would change into her leotard and dance for a while. Maybe today she'd dance something modern, something bold and interpretive.

  She searched the stack of CDs she'd left on the coffee table in the living room, hoping to find a song with a tempo to match her mood. Ah, this one. Tori Amos. "These Precious Things." Perfect.

  Humming the tune, she took the steps two at a time, anxious to get on with her day.

  * * *

  Laura was a half-hour late on Saturday, Georgia having just decided to call the inn when the dark blue van arrived. Out poured Ally and not two, but four friends, all giggling and toting small canvas bags.

  "I'm sorry, Georgia," Laura told her, "but this thing just seems to keep snowballing. It seems that our Ally had mentioned at lunch yesterday that she was having ballet lessons and the more the merrier— you really do have to watch what you say around children, Georgia, they take you literally—and the next thing I knew, Missy and Lydy were getting dropped off at the house at nine this morning, all ready to dance. Their moms all said to send them the bill for their lessons. Do you mind terribly?"

  "I don't mind at all," Georgia laughed. "Besides, there are only five of them. That's no more of a problem than three were last week."

  "Well, I think if you are going to continue to do this, you should decide how much you are going to charge their mothers for the lessons."

  "I never thought of doing that." Georgia frowned. "I really was doing this for Ally."

  "And Ally now has half the girls in her kindergarten class ready to sign up. And since it seems that you're a girl who can't say no, you're likely to end up with a dozen or more girls here some weekend soon. I think you need to decide what exactly you want to do here."

  Laura unlocked the back of the van and started unloading folding chairs. "I know you don't have enough of these, so I brought a few extras for the girls to use. Ally," Laura called to her daughter, who was pointing out all of the farm's points of interest to her friends, "I want you girls to take these chairs to the barn and set them up. Two girls to a chair, please."

  The girls divided up the chairs and headed off to the barn, still giggling and chattering.

  "Georgia, I need to ask a favor." Laura's eyebrows knit close in concern. "Would you mind terribly if the girls stayed for a few hours after their lesson? One of the nurses from Riverview called just as I was ready to leave the inn. She said my mother is having a bad morning. She keeps asking for my father, and is becoming somewhat argumentative. I'm so sorry, I hate to impose on you, but…"

  "For heaven's sake, Laura, it's no imposition, and there's no need to apologize. Just go."

  "I was hoping you'd say that. I brought some stuff to make lunch for the girls. I thought they could have a picnic." Laura pulled a large brown paper bag from the back of the van and balanced it on her hip. "There's bread and peanut butter—I didn't bring jelly, but I know you have tons of that—apples, some cookies…"

  "Sure. It's not a problem. Give me the bag, and get on your way. The girls will be fine."

  "I didn't say anything to Ally," Laura said as she walked to the driver's side. "I just told her I might go visit Grandma while she's dancing. I left a message on Matt's answering machine, so I expect he'll meet me out there." She climbed into the van and closed the door, saying, "I just hate what this disease is doing to my mother. I just hate it."

  "I'm sorry, sweetie." Georgia reached through the window to give Laura's arm an encouraging squeeze. "Don't worry about the girls. They can stay all day, if necessary. That is, if the other mothers aren't going to worry."

  "I told them I wouldn't be back till later this afternoon. No one objected," she said with a wry smile. "I have a vision of all the other moms heading for the nearest mall to do a little unencumbered shopping and meeting their friends for lunch."

  "My friend Lee is driving down from Baltimore today, so we'll have a picnic and we'll do some exploring. We'll be fine."

  "Thanks, Georgia." Laura started to drive away, then stopped for a moment and looked back. "The girls won't be in your way, will they? I mean, did you want to be alone with your friend?"

  "No, no." Georgia laughed. "He's not that kind of friend. We'll be fine. Go. Take care of your mother. We'll be here when you get back."

  Hoisting the bag upon her hip, Georgia carried it to the house and was just about to take it inside when Lee's spiffy little sports car buzzed into the drive and stopped on a dime. She set the bag down on the back steps and went to meet him.

  "Cara! You're a sight for sore eyes!" He hopped out and hugged her warmly.

  "Oh, I missed you, too." Georgia hugged him back.

  "Your color is terrific," he told her, "and that pinched look is gone from around your eyes. I'd say country life suits you very well."

  "It does. I feel very good."

  "Aunt Georgia—" Ally poked out from the barn door and stopped when she saw that her aunt had a visitor.

  "I'm coming, sweetie. I'll be right there. Are the chairs all set up?"

  Ally nodded.

  "I'm on my way." Georgia turned to Lee and said, "You're just in time. My niece and her friends are ready for their dance lesson. Come watch." She tugged on his hand.

  "I wouldn't miss it," Lee grinned. "Who knows, there might be a budding Pavlova or Fontayne…"

  "Or at the very least, five little kindergartners who love to dance."

  Georgia's dance class was a rousing success, and all five girls begged to be permitted to come back the following week.

  "You will be back," Ally told them. "It's my birthday party, remember? And we're all going to dance!"

  "Then the time after that," one of the girls said, tugging on Georgia's sleeve. "Can I come the time after the party?"

  Georgia paused, thinking about what Laura had said. Maybe she should give some consideration to setting up a more organized program, and charging for it. There did appear to be a demand, and she had certainly enjoyed the time she spent with the girls.

  "Why don't I speak with your mother and see what we can work out?" Georgia said.

  "Will you talk to my mother too, please?" Samantha asked.

  "And mine!"

  "And mine, too!"

  "All right," laughed Georgia. "I'll speak with all your mothers. Now, I think we'll leave the chairs here for next week. But take your bags and we'll go back to the house so that you can change. We
're going to take Lee on a tour of the farm. Oh, and I have a surprise to show you!"

  She remembered Spam, who was at that moment lounging in the garden, probably sleeping contentedly in the warm spring sun.

  The girls raced down the steps as Georgia gathered up her music.

  "So, what did you think?" she asked Lee.

  "I think you are a natural teacher. I think you have a gift, cara." He told her. "I think your greatest contribution to dance may well be your ability to share it with others. You were wonderful with the children, and your face just glowed the entire time."

  "I was having fun."

  "And it was obvious. I would definitely give some thought to teaching, if I were you. And you know," he looked around the big open space, "this could be a wonderful studio. Why, a few skylights, a few mirrors…"

  "…a few less splinters in the floor," Georgia laughed. "But I don't really know how long I'll be here. It wouldn't be worth it to make such an investment."

  "So you skip the skylights. How much can a few mirrors, a barre and a floor sander cost?"

  Georgia shrugged.

  "I think it's worth looking into," Lee said.

  "You may be right. Maybe I should talk to Laura and see what she thinks."

  "Well, while you debate your employment options, why not give me that tour I was promised? And where's this little piggy you told me about?" Lee took her arm.

  "Oh! Spam! I left her in the garden. And it looks as if the girls have found her." Georgia took off across the yard ahead of her guest. "Ally, don't scare her, okay? She's a little on the timid side."

  "Where'd you get her? Is she yours? Can we keep her? What's her name?" Ally jumped up and down excitedly.

  "Her name is Spam…"

  "Spam!" Five giggly girls repeated in unison.

  "Here, Spam, it's okay," Georgia crooned. The little pig crept to her, a wary eye on the others. "See, she's very sweet, but she's a little overwhelmed. There are so many of you, and only one of her."